


You're Crashing, But You're No Wave

by ambivalentlangst



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: All relationships are platonic, Amnesia, Art Inspired, Gen, Kidnapping, Langst, Memory Loss, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma, alternatively titled, but here we are, idk man it's weird, in a bad way, lance gets screwed over, lance gets worshipped, lance is gonna get messed up, this wasn't supposed to be this long, touch fearing lance, touch starved lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:58:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambivalentlangst/pseuds/ambivalentlangst
Summary: Lance remembered nothing but the cold. There was nothing to be remembered except for the cold, found in touch and blood and white walls stained with it. Lance wished he remembered nothing at all.





	You're Crashing, But You're No Wave

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! This fic was heavily inspired by a piece of art I saw on tumblr, which can be found at this link!! 
> 
> https://hardlynotnever.tumblr.com/post/169103756980/another-warmup-that-never-got-anywhere
> 
> I've been mulling it over for weeks, thinking of the story that could possibly be behind it, and here we are. As a side note, this is also my first fic using a song title as my title. Wild. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this and the blood, sweat, and tears that went into it!!

   The blue lion laid buried at the bottom of a ravine, a fresh layer of snow falling over the down already almost entirely covering her from view. Rather then standing proud, her metal limbs were bent at their joints in a crumpled pile. No pilot remained in her cockpit. 

   She had fallen with one, yes, but her cub was rescued, no, stolen by the creatures who lived in the mountains. Lance no longer understood her, or where he had come from. He had forgotten all about the friends that desperately sought him out, as the hands of his caretakers patted him down.

   They weren’t sure of his name, exactly. The foreign creature, beautiful but so very strange with his dark skin and colored eyes, didn’t speak their language. He stared at him with plaintive pools of blue, afraid, but of what? He and his beast, carefully left behind in fear of its power, were sent from the heavens. _He_ was the god. 

Lance didn’t understand what had happened. He remembered nothing save for the cold and the pale limbs that reached out to touch him, but always with gloves padding their fingers. He was never to be directly touched, as far as he could tell. One of the first days he had been awake and functioning, they dressed him and one by one the creatures filed in to the room he’d been placed in, but though they circled round and opened their mouths to communicate with one another, when Lance reached out to greet them they scrambled away like he was poisonous. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was.

   “Why are you all scared of me?” he asked one of the aliens, their long limbs moving to change his sheets while keeping their black–all black, and it scared Lance–eyes downcast. It was the day after the visitation, and the long, pale hair everyone seemed to have hung haphazardly around the creature’s face. He knew they opened their mouth and that seemed to do _something_ , but he never heard it. There was only a ringing that came from such a sound, like a dog whistle, and it all sounded the same. They didn’t respond, and Lance reached out to tap their arm lightly. 

   The creature fell to the floor, their sharp teeth gnashing viciously while their jaw dropped in what looked like a scream. Lance had yanked his hand back, but then the others were rushing in with gloved hands that had long talons cutting through the fabric. He tried to protest, apologize for the transgression he’d never meant to make.

“I didn’t know, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-” 

In response, the attendant threw their head back so sharply it looked painful, but though Lance looked he could see no injury his touch might’ve caused. He didn’t _understand_ , but their claws were suddenly buried in the attendant and the others ripped them apart faster then Lance could blink. There was no grace in the action, only an animalistic need to destroy and kill.

He gaped at the red–darker then what was found in his own species, but still red–staining the white walls, while the others looked to Lance for approval. He stared at his hands, and pulled himself to his feet.

There was a creature, an alien, or what remained of it anyways, on the ground. It had been flayed alive. As far as Lance could tell, it was because of his touch, a paltry question he had to know the answer to. He wrestled with the urge to vomit at the gore of it all, scathing and rank in his nose.

   He had to get away, but the minute he darted for the door there were those same gloved hands on him, dragging him back despite how he tried to scream. Lance cried, which seemed to fascinate them. He was held down while he thrashed, and a vial was pressed to his cheek to collect his tears. He screamed.

“Stop it! Let me go, those aren’t yours!”

Their grip was strong, and Lance eventually dissolved into whimpers, still seeing red out of the corner of his eyes. They hadn’t even bothered to clean it, or at least not yet. He didn’t know where he was, who he was, or what the creatures were that kept him captive and harvested the fruits of his terror. He did understood, however, that in their pallid hands, he was nothing. Lance had to wonder if he’d ever felt as utterly alone as he did in that moment, but that was knowledge he didn’t have.

   They kept him against the floor in their fabric grip until he fell unconscious, and when he woke he was in a slightly different room, stark naked. He flushed to the tip of his ears, though it didn’t do too much to his cheeks that were always red from the constant chill. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to feel what aches and pains his body might’ve had, shoulders tensed at the very thought of what could’ve happened without him awake to protest. His heart started to beat faster, but the longer he thought he didn’t see anything that appeared immediately indicative of the worst case scenario. Lance felt the frosty air leave his lungs in a sudden sigh of relief, and looked around. Like always, there was only the same white walls that’d been there since the day he’d woken in his last room. 

   Sitting a small ways away was a plate of food that looked as it always did in wherever he was. Tough, unwelcoming. It was the only thing they had, and partly why Lance suspected their teeth had to be so damn sharp. He lifted it in his hands and clamped down on meat that made his jaw hurt from the effort of chewing it. A few bites later and everything else eased until his meal fell out of his hands and he collapsed back onto his bed. In the very back of his mind he realized the way he felt was wrong. He needed to fear the creatures that descended on his limp figure and dressed him in thin, flowing and immaculately clean fabrics that did little to warm him. His expression creased with thought, but all he could do was stare ahead while they tipped his chin up and examined him with gentle touches of fingers that had no traces of the razor sharp claws he’d seen yesterday, used to tear one of their own apart. 

   Lance was helped to his feet, and managed to remain aware enough to move towards the door. Then, he sat and let the people examine him, staring into his eyes and bowing so low to him that their foreheads were pressed against the cold, marbled floors. Lance watched absentmindedly, unable to do anything but stare dully ahead. He heard whispers of the monstrous vessel that had accompanied him in his fall from the heavens, but Lance couldn’t remember anything about that. Even if he did, it was lost to the white invading his mind and wiping it clean.

* * *

   Lance had been gone for two weeks before they found a clue that might indicate something about where he was. They’d all been looking, frantic and devoted in their search. Keith in particular. He was the one who was supposed to be Lance’s backup. He had the fastest lion, the most agile. He should’ve been there, but Lance had been on his own on that mission, flying back to meet the castle with a fleet hot on his heels when he cut out with a frantic plea for backup. By the time any of them had arrived, there was nothing to be found but the wreckage of the ships he had managed to take out, crossing such a vast territory it was impossible to pinpoint where exactly he could’ve fallen. Pidge sighed and scanned over her tracking devices, but nothing was showing up. 

   The clue that they found turned out to be nothing more then a stray comet, and they had to go back to searching. 

   They were a wreck. The gaping hole left in their team hurt. Suddenly there was nobody to crack the joke needed to smooth over a tense situation, or be sure they all went to bed at a reasonable time. They had to resort by searching, planet by planet, for their lost paladin. Keith grumbled as they did so, his lion performing the scan over his designated area.

   “This won’t help. We have too much ground to cover. We need something better then this.” Pidge had a quick response for that.

   “Shut up, Keith.” Keith, for once in his life, listened.

   A month after he had first disappeared, a signal from the blue lion finally came across Pidge’s tracking device. It was from an icy planet, tiny and remote that went by the name of Gelcid. Keith was only barely reassured by the fact that it apparently wasn’t inhabited, according to the intel they’d gotten from a species in a nearby system. They found Blue at the bottom of a gorge, covered in a good ten feet of snow. She was collapsed in a heap, obviously using what energy she had to activate her tracker. Keith immediately took to clearing the snow away, along with Shiro and Hunk. Jesus, Lance was with Blue and all, but how could he survive being snowed in for a month in a downed lion?

   “You think he’s really in there?” he asked Shiro under his breath. Keith stole a glance out of the corner of his eye at him, and saw his jaw clench. It was his only reply, and Keith dug faster through the cold.

   As expected, when they finally got access to the cockpit, there was nothing to be found but rust colored stains on the seat, and a bit of water that they assumed was melted snow. Coran and Allura had hung back at the castle. They weren’t sure it was a good idea to bring it out of orbit, and before today, they’d been operating with four lions instead of five. Keith heard his comm crackle, and a familiar accented voice come through.

   “Update?” Shiro’s eyes narrowed, hardening again with the barely present gleam of hope lost. 

   “We’ve unearthed the blue lion. No sign of Lance, princess.” He heard her let out a huff of frustration, though he supposed she stopped herself from saying more, if only to keep the rest of them more upbeat about things

   “Keep looking,” she ground out at last. “We’ll take care of getting the lion back on the ship. This is the only lead we have.” 

   “Roger that,” Shiro answered. Keith looked to him, and then Hunk and Pidge. Pidge’s foot tapped nervously, and her brows had scrunched tightly together as she looked at a projection she pulled up from her armor. Keith could see the shadow cast across Hunk’s face, his adam’s apple bobbing nervously as his gaze locked onto the sparse, almost artful array of blood on their surroundings. They all wanted, _needed_ , Lance back so badly, it was like a blow to the gut to find his lion but only a grim trace of his presence. Keith himself had to be the one to break the silence, shuffling awkwardly on the balls of his feet. He was bad with this sort of thing, and he was very aware of that.

   “He’d have had to find shelter somewhere. We should look around for caves, or any traces of civilization. Our lions can do a thermal scan, right?” Pidge nodded, tearing her honey colored focus away from her own musings.

   “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled, sparing a last skim over the information as she closed it up. “I’ve got the heat sensors on everybody’s now. Shiro?” The three of them looked to their leader for comfort, and though there was pain on his face–Keith would later feel bad for meandering in the scene, knowing it had probably triggered Shiro’s PTSD–he forced himself to nod.

   “Sounds good. I’ll go north. Pidge, east, Hunk, south. Keith, west. Pan out. I don’t think any neighboring planets mentioned anything about herd animals, so any group of signatures, as unlikely as it is, might be a civilization that’ll know the terrain better.” They nodded, Hunk threw in a mocking salute that Keith noted as an attempt to lighten the mood.

   “Got it.”

   As Keith got in his lion, disgruntled as she was from the snow and ice of the planet, all he could hope for was that they’d find a body. Something to bring home, even if blackened from the cold. Something to show that Lance had at least existed before being snuffed out.

* * *

   It had taken several hours to even find the city, despite the fact that it was barely a few miles from where Lance had crashed. The main problem came from, Keith found as the people swarmed them, that they maintained a lovely body temperature that hovered right around freezing. Thus the problem with the heat sensors. Regardless, they seemed to be receptive of them. Reverent, even.

   Keith didn’t like it.

   There was a certain way those beady, black eyes looked at him that sent a chill up his spine, had him spinning to check to be sure their pointed teeth were properly out of sight and unthreatening. Even so, they were quick to fulfill any requests and looked at them like they were gods walking amongst mortals. It was unsettling, to say the least. He’d brought it up to Pidge only a few short minutes into their first meeting, whispered fervently between the pleasantries Allura, Coran, and Shiro exchanged with their high priest.

   “Creepy?” Pidge spat back a retort almost instantly, and when Keith’s eyes flitted to Hunk to confirm, he nodded his agreement.

   “Definitely.”

* * *

   They settled into routine amongst the Gelcidians through the next several days. In the morning, they’d wake up and be fed a tough meal of what could politely be called mystery meat, and some chopped up herbs that Keith speculated to be their vegetables. It was all equally grisly and unwelcoming, harsh on the palate. It was certainly enough to make him miss food goo, which was saying quite a bit under the circumstances. 

   After breakfast, Allura and Coran went to the high priest–they’d found his name to be Kezwolt, odd but blissfully easy to pronounce–and tried to broker an alliance, while the rest of them set about looking for Lance.

   In Keith’s opinion, it was irritating, almost painful to listen to the high whine that accompanied any of the Gelcidian people when they spoke. It was like a dog whistle, and Keith was thankful for the translators, otherwise the alliance that he already had his doubts about would’ve been even worse. They had a guide, assigned of course by Kezwolt. He was a thinner example of their species, his nose pinched and his teeth a bit sharper then what Keith had observed as average. Resmon was not Keith’s favorite person in the whole world. It didn’t sit well with him how he, and everyone else they seemed to talk to, avoided the topic of Lance like the plague. To make matters worse, they couldn’t seem to ditch Resmon.

   Keith had debated, more then once, just telling him flatout to leave but Shiro had shot him a look and that idea was shelved for use only when things grew truly desperate. The task then fell to Pidge to sneak away, because she scraped five foot four on her tiptoes. Resmon turned his back, Shiro (who was worried enough about their missing teammate to stoop to their methods) dropped a question about whatever dumb thing there was to see, and Pidge tore away as fast as she could.

   Every evening as she trudged back to the hut they’d been given to stay in–always so _fucking cold_ –Hunk would ask what she found and she tiredly flipped him off in way of response. It was getting frustrating, and one night as Hunk snored and Pidge clicked and clacked away at her computer in the room over, Keith asked Shiro,

   “Do you think he’s alive? Really?” In the darkness, Keith could imagine the way Shiro would instinctively school his expression and look to the left, trying to think of how to phrase things delicately. Normally, there’d be a pause, and then a smooth delivery of the most reassuring thing possible. This time the response came quickly, rough around the edges. It smacked of regret, the kind of guilt Keith could tell he’d been nursing for a long time.

   “I don’t know anymore, Keith.”

   Keith tried not to make too much noise when he woke up from a dream that night that filled his head with images of what it might be like if things went wrong

* * *

   They’d been on Gecid for a little under half a week, er, a movement, on the night Keith woke up early. Normally it took him forever to fall asleep because even with Red keeping him warm with their bond, it was frigid in every part of their lodging (Keith had argued for a stay in the castle, but Allura took one look at the population of potentially very good fighters, and decided they were pulling out all the stops for the alliance). He just couldn’t settle down, and shivered himself to sleep under the blankets, or had to roll around for hours to find a comfortable position with his armor on. Warmth over comfort, and he usually slept late, but it seemed that night he did the opposite. After laying as still as possible for as long as Keith could stand, he heartily accepted that he was done with sleep for the night.

   Keith put on his armor as quickly as he could and headed outside for a walk while he tried to stop the grumbling of his stomach. They’d have breakfast in a bit, as horrible as it would be. He could hold out for awhile, he told himself, and in the meantime took a walk around the town they had.

   It was pretty easy to imagine how they’d gone without notice for so long. Apparently they suffered massive blizzards every few movements, and were in a far corner of the universe, hidden away and out of sight of the empire. Even if they did find them, it wasn’t like their existence was common knowledge. Even their neighboring planets didn’t know there was intelligent life, they were so good at hiding. The planet could very swallow them up, and nobody would know a thing about what had happened.

   Keith remained lost in spiteful thought, when he saw a pale, fleeting shape scurrying to the main temple. Like everything else on the godforsaken planet it was irritatingly white, to the point where one couldn’t look directly at it because it reflected light so strongly. They hadn’t been allowed in, not even Coran and Allura. It was the most secure place on the planet, and sacred to the Gelcidians. Keith had no interest, but Pidge said she’d been poking around in her search for Lance. Like most of the time spent asking Pidge how it was going, she sighed and spat profanities for every other word. In short, it had so many guards posted it was ridiculous. As a result, Pidge had largely given up on infiltrating. Besides, it was only open entry to the priests and worshippers, so it was unlikely Lance was being held there.

   Regardless, he walked up to the gathered, doing his best to blend into the shadows despite the glaring red of his armor. Something was up, and he wanted to know what. He followed the Gelcidian he’d seen closely, trying to find what they were staring at. Before daybreak the temple wasn’t so harsh, but Keith felt sick at what he saw.

   There was a lithe, wavering form on a balcony hanging above the crowd, gathered with bowed heads before him. They were easy to pick out, because nobody on the planet had skin that rich. Lance stuck out like a sore thumb, swaying from side to side in the cold while his breath formed milky clouds in the air that hurt Keith’s lungs in the effort it simply took to breathe. All Lance wore were loose fitting, billowing clothes that did nothing to disguise the dark, almost bruise-like smears under his puffy eyes. He trembled like a leaf, holding himself up by sheer luck rather then anything else if Keith had to wager a guess. Keith’s breath caught in his throat, and he began murmuring into the comms in the desperate chance that someone would hear.

   “I found Lance. They have him. He’s at the temple, far side, alive but not entirely unharmed. I need backup immediately.” As he watched, he saw the high priest appear behind Lance, setting his hands on his shoulders. Kezwolt began to speak, low and urgent to the crowd.

   “The paladins of Voltron are not like our Blue,” he announced angrily. “They are rash and violent where he is docile and wise. They will _steal him away_ given the slightest opportunity. The sooner we get them off our planet, the better. Your prayers reach Blue, who has chosen another noble sacrifice.” Kezwolt motioned to someone behind him, who brought forth a young priestess, thrashing in a gnarl of long limbs and flying claws. Keith hadn’t known they had those, but she looked to Lance tearfully.

   “Blue, please! I’m good, I swear! I never meant–I only wanted your blessing. My Lord, please! Have mercy!” Lance had no obvious response and Kezwolt’s eyes gleamed with something dark as he raised his hand and split her open in a merciless slash of wicked claws. The twitch of Lance’s fingers was his only reaction, but one Keith was too far away to notice.

* * *

   Lance could not remember what it was like to be warm.

   He could not remember anything at all of his past, before there were white walls stained with blood a shade too dark. Those monsters encircled him, fed him their food that hurt to eat but was dulled by whatever they put in it. Lance didn’t understand, but he didn’t have to, not when it was so easy to let their hands mold him into whatever they needed.

   Lance knew nothing except for the monsters who wanted him, worshipped him. He stood when he thought he needed to, though he couldn’t be sure. All he could focus on were their spiraling rows of jagged teeth, so easy to get lost in and so perfect for ruining whatever they decided was ripe enough to bite. He was never sure what to do or how to do it. There was only the shrieking, high and faint in his ears that made him want to scream. Of course, he couldn’t scream, though. It was too cold for that, and Lance worried that should he lash out and make a sound he’d shatter the tenuous balance he was swaddled in.

   It was easier to let the drugs, yes, he was almost positive there were drugs involved, wipe his mind blank and transform him into a puppet for people with gloved hands to twist to and fro. There was no alternative, really.

   It was either that, or become conscious and be reminded of what it was like to be at fault for murder. A simple question, a small touch, and then silent screams wrought out of a bladed mouth as the attendant flailed on the ground.

   Late at night as they carried Lance to bed and pulled the blanket up around him, he sometimes wondered what they had howled in their last moments. Lance would never know. Was it betrayal, for mercy? He could only make poor guesses at whatever it was, and even then he was quickly overwhelmed with the memory of blood and rot. He knew he hadn’t been there for the rot, but he imagined. He could still do that, because he never slept anymore. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because the monsters never closed his eyes for him.

   In the day he sat in the temple and let the other aliens come and touch him, marvel at his natural curls and pry his eyelids apart to see the blue that had, unknowingly, earned him his name. They fell at his feet. Lance stopped wondering why.

   It was like that for so long, and then all of a sudden Lance was corralled into his room and one of the creatures said he couldn’t leave. The food still arrived as it always had, and at first Lance took it. He thought, had the creatures been there, they would’ve guided his bare hands to the meal and wrapped his fingers around it. They would’ve lifted it to his face, smeared it over his skin but told him to eat, so he did. 

   The longer he did that though, the more he could find no motivation to do so without explicitly being told to. So, he stopped. 

   Only a day or so into that, the visions rushed at him.

   Blood, blood, blood and his hand that started the ruthless flying talons that tore them apart. Lance curled up on his bed, cold as ever even under the blankets, and sobbed.

   “It’s my fault,” he murmured over and over, fervently. He felt like the room was no longer silent, that there were a million eyes on him because he was a _murderer_.

   He couldn’t take it eventually, and when the next plate came he stuffed his face so quickly it was obscene. The drugs hit him fast.

   A lot of times he could only get part way through his meal before he got too numb to continue and it just fell from his hands. Now Lance cried and waited desperately for the medicine to wash away the weight that had settled on his shoulders.

   By the time the priestess came in, unsure and flighty, he could not possibly move away from her touch, the hesitant brush of her bare fingertips against his freckled cheek. Had he been lucid, he might’ve sobbed from relief. It’d been so long since he felt skin on his own, even if it was strange and cold and contained a dagger within. 

   Only then, like before, the others burst in.

   Vaguely, Lance wondered if it would always be like this. Perhaps his touch was just designed to bring ruin. They slid their hands under his armpits and hoisted him up with a bruising grip, but Lance did not complain. He just moved his feet–no slippers like normal, and his toes throbbed painfully with the ice that seeped into his very core–to the balcony. He stared over the edge and into the crowd, his crowd? They knelt at his feet and worshipped his being, but Lance was not sure if he wanted the gathered to be his own.

   Lance heard the faint whistle in his ears, felt the cold spray of blood land on the white of his tunic, but it didn’t register. Lance could only fall into the hold that pushed him towards right and wrong. How could he do anything different, when he couldn’t even choose who to share his affection with without tragedy striking? Faintly he felt the urge to push the body away, but the feeling was fickle and deserted him as quickly as it came with only a small fluttering of his fingers.

   He stood in the open air, in the cold that he thought might have once been comforting. The priest ushered him back inside, and Lance let him without even an inkling of resistance that might’ve trickled in from his addled mind. He was put again into his bed, and as Lance stared up at the ceiling he realized that should he touch someone, through personal fault or not, they would die. With the blood still drying on his clothes it was an entirely natural conclusion, one that was accepted gracefully. Lance did his best to tuck himself entirely under the covers, breathing softly. He wanted to sleep, but as was becoming normal, it refused to take him. From what he imagined was down the hall, he heard a ruckus, the sound like a dog whistle and heavy footsteps. Lance could not bring himself to wonder what might disturb the all encompassing silence.

   He didn’t hear all that much, but soon the crashing and pounding of feet turned into more then that. There was shouting, arguing, and that piqued Lance’s attention. None of the monsters talked.

   He tried to stand, but without the hands to lift him up it was hard to pull himself to his feet. That was irritating, and he tried again. He managed to swing his legs out of bed but he couldn’t stand, not without help. In front of his eyes the world blurred, but he still wouldn’t stop. On his last attempt to get up, he fell to the floor. Nothing hurt too badly, but there was a wetness to his nose that he didn’t like. He fumbled around in the mess of it, until his door was thrown open with a bang, and he saw a figure clad in crimson staring down at him.

   Lance tried to crawl away, scrabbling at the cold floors as best as he could.

   Whoever it was was frightening, their hair wild and face creased with anger. They were so full of pigment, so full of _red_ , in his world of white. The fact that they carried a sword and had colored eyes like his own was not reassuring, as they prowled forward and tried to push him to his feet. Lance saw the gloves, or maybe not gloves, but a covering nonetheless, and went limp. 

   It was not real. This was just another of the monsters, come to whisk him away again. It was different, to be held against a plated chest. His head hurt as it cracked against it as his captor ran. Their stilted gate made Lance’s body, aching for relief from the constant bite of the cold, sore. He whimpered softly, but did not move. He couldn’t. It was so much simpler to just let himself be manipulated into the god they wished to possess.

   There came other monsters, garish and bold in their own right as Lance closed his eyes and tried to let the chaos pass him by. With the chemicals pumped into his food and then into Lance himself, he could only vaguely register the harsh discord of a language he knew, but was not his native tongue. He didn’t have the presence of mind to understand it, and peered out through half lidded eyes at the one who had him currently. He was still running, towards another painfully red _thing_.

Lance had no words for the creation that towered over them both, fiery and fierce enough to make him whimper as the monster with his arms around him pulled Lance inside. He panted, his cheeks flushing. It was too hot. This was a new kind of torture, this blast of heat after weeks of freezing for so long he could swear he was nothing more then a thin, brittle piece of ice that was ready to shatter at the slightest possibility of pressure. Still, he was pliant on the floor and did nothing but gasp for air as the beast rattled.

In a sort of far off logic, Lance thought that they might be flying, but then he was being held again, rough fingers gripping him hard enough to hurt. The world rushing by his glassy eyes was unsettling, but Lance was obedient until the walls of a prison closed in with a hiss, and there was nothing to listen to at all but the frigid sleep taking hold.

* * *

Lance was wrenched from his slumber and thrown into waiting arms, where he instinctively forced the tension out of his limbs to ragdoll into the hold. He blinked the sleep, or a feeling that he could best approximate as sleep, from his eyes, trying to understand why he felt warm. He was never warm. That was enough to have him look up, into a pair of kind grey eyes that seemed to ooze concern. Lance flinched.

   The embrace instantly vanished, and he stumbled back. He clenched his eyes shut, fully expecting a cloud of the aliens to crowd him and arrange him how they wanted. Even still, he didn’t tense. There was no use. He held that position for several long seconds that stretched into an eternity, and then slowly pried his eyes open.

   There was a swarm of people, humans but also not quite, staring at him and each other.

   “Lance?” one of them asked. His eyes darted over to the source of the sound, his heart slamming furiously against his chest. It had been brought forth by a large, plush boy who kept his dark, blissfully dark, hair out of his eyes–those were dark too, and that wasn’t nearly as comforting–with an orange headband. The question was uttered again, a bit louder. It was absolute ecstasy to hear something other then the barely audible shrieking, and it stunned him a little. As such, it was a bit before he could force his lips to form words.

   “Lance? Is that,” he breathed roughly, sucking in so much air compared to what he had grown used to that it made his head spin, “Is that me?” Again a shifting of eyes, bright and colorful and familiar but still very frightening.

   “Yes, you’re Lance. Do you know my name?” Lance looked over again at the boy speaking to him. He was probably around his age and on the surface appeared warm and open, but Lance was afraid to trust him. He didn’t know where he was, or what was going on. He shook his head, taking a step back.

   “I’m not–I don’t–I’m confused,” he summarized at last. He began to shiver, but paid it no mind. He was used to shivering. “Who are you people? What do you want from me? Where are–where are the monsters?” The others continued to look to the bigger boy, who took a cautious step forward. Lance tried his hardest not to move, and felt marginally satisfied when his heel only slid back by a fraction. He answered his questions easily, his voice sincere and steady in a manner that was reassuring if only because Lance could hear it and know what was being said.

   “I’m Hunk. We’re your friends, Lance. We’re in the castle of lions. Do you know what that is?” Lance shook his head quickly, and Hunk’s consistent and sure steps that carried him across the floor continued. Hunk spread his hands in a placating motion, nodding. He seemed to take it in stride. “That’s alright. There’s nothing wrong with that. You can explore later, just know you’re safe.” That did little to reassure Lance. Even if he hadn’t heard anything in the past month, he felt he knew that he had been supposed to be safe with those horrors, and now he was somewhere strange. Lance didn’t feel all that great about that, and rocked back on his feet nervously. As a result, Hunk halted his approach, and a man–no, not quite–interjected.

   “Lance, my boy. I’m Coran. I was the one to fix you up after that nasty stint with the Gelcidians. Would you care to know your injuries?” Out of Lance’s view, Hunk shot a look back at the others. They’d have time later. Now, Lance was overwhelmed and out of his element. He needed as much of a stress free environment as possible. Quietly, as though they’d never been there at all, they slipped out of the door. Hunk thought about staying, but as Lance shuffled over to Coran’s fold, the older man jutted his head toward the door in a motion for him to leave too.

   Coran’s voice was soothing. Lance liked accents, though he wasn’t sure why. He had no memories that might care to explain that for him. He tried to put the tension out of his shoulders at Coran’s suggestion, and listened as he rattled off his injuries. It was kind of relaxing to know that information too. He liked knowing such things about himself, in a desperate grab for control.

   “Lance, as far as we can tell, you were mostly unharmed when you came back to us. There was a bit more scar tissue, likely a result of your original crash landings, but the Gelcidians appear to have taken care of most of that.” He pulled up a model of his body, painstakingly taking the time to point out each place where he saw the change. “You appear to be suffering from sleep deprivation, largely due to the great deal of drugs in your body, but the pods flushed that out of you. There was a bit of abnormality in your brain scans so I expected complications, but the amnesia was a surprise, along with the fact that though lethargy was clearly a problem, you don’t have any frostbite or any other cold related wounds.” He kept the delivery of information calm and consistent, but Lance had started to tune out the things he said. Coming from where he’d been felt rather like waking up, but his body was not rested by far. Coran finally ceased his explanations when he saw Lance’s eyes glazed over, and offered a sympathetic smile to him.

   “Lance, would you like to be shown to your room? We can get you real clothes. I would assume you don’t want what Keith rescued you in.” Lance thought on that for a second or two. He didn’t remember much of the rescue, if it could even be called that. Lance still wasn’t entirely convinced he was in safe hands. Just because they were not the monsters, or at least not their breed, did not mean he trusted anyone. Thinking back on things made his head hurt, but brought with it the feeling of cold nipping at the tips of his ears and blood spraying from wounds fashioned from hard slashes of claws. His hands balled into fists at his side, and he instinctively tried to take a few steps away while he provided a speedy answer.

   “New clothes would be good.” Coran nodded, and said nothing more.

* * *

Lance stood in front of what was apparently the door to his room, a pile in his arms consisting of an army green jacket, jeans, and a white shirt with some blue accents. They felt familiar, but at the same time Lance didn’t know them at all. The color made a dull ache settle in between his eyes. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable. At the very least, the color was a change. Perhaps good, perhaps bad. It was one of the many things he didn’t know. Like so many other aspects of his situation, it was easier to be ignorant when he hardly felt anything at all. He took a step forward, and did his best not to jump when the door slid open without any action from him. How odd.

He had a foot into the threshold of his quarters when he heard a few footsteps. His shoulders scrunched up on instinct, trying to hide himself as best as he could despite the fact that he dutifully turned to face whoever it was. It was always in his best interest to do what they wished. Lance saw a small figure clad in green making their way towards him, the metal of their glasses reflecting the light as they came to stand before him,

Lance vaguely recognized her from when he’d stumbled out of the pod, but she wasn’t familiar, despite the way she looked up nervously at him and offered a hand.

“Hey, Lance. I’m Pidge. I don’t suppose you, ah, remember me?” Her brown eyes were so hopeful, and her gravity defying hair swarmed her face. Lance shook his head, and put a bit of distance between himself and the bare skin of her palm.

“I, well, no. I’m sorry.” He tossed a look back over his shoulder at his waiting room, but Pidge took a sudden step forward and Lance caught the flash of her pale skin out of the corner of his eye and stumbled back. He landed harshly on the floor with enough pressure to hurt, but he couldn’t allow the girl with her soulful, wanting eyes to bear his curse. He might’ve been drugged most of the time he was with those monsters, but his mind clung to the thought of razor bladed teeth snapping at the air and the remains of those he’d seen. Lance didn’t want anything to happen to her, and stared up at her in fear from his position on the ground. 

Pidge swallowed thickly, and blinked a few times in what Lance surmised was an attempt to clear the shine from her damp eyes.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Lance. Sleep good. I’m just down the hall. Third door on your left if,” she cleared her throat, and tried to hold her quivering chin high, “If you need anything. Good night.”

* * *

Lance did not sleep well. After changing into a silk, blue robe he found in the closet he was plagued with dreams, the hands that were still frighteningly glacial even through gloves as they dressed him and prayed at his feet. He saw horrible visions of the strange people he was with now, human–in some cases–being shredded the same way. Lance sobbed and reached for them, but it was too late. Their blood was warm.

Lance woke up screaming, thrashing with abandon in the sheets and desperately wishing for the drugs to wash away the memories. His breath came out in hot gasps, and there was a pressure on his chest, crushing his lungs that made him feel like he couldn’t _breathe_ for god’s sake.

He didn’t know what was blocking his breathing, but he knew he had to get it out. He gagged over the side of his bed, spit smeared across his lips and dripping down in fat globs to the ground. He retched and heaved, barely noting the thunderous sounds of feet slamming against the floor of the hall until there was that tall, scarred man who had caught him earlier crouching in front of him.

   Lance’s gasped for breath as he heard the man, forcing a calm into his voice, instruct him to look at him. The lights had come on, but Lance wasn’t sure when. He wasn’t sure of anything except that he was suffocating and there was blood and it was all his _fault_. 

   Slowly, the words being reiterated, over and over again like a broken cassette, started to sink in.

   “Lance? Lance, I’m Shiro. I caught you when you got out of the pod. Lance, can you hear me?” When Lance looked to him, those familiar, world-worn, grey eyes snagged his own. Still, he couldn’t stop the panic coursing through him, and could only produce an erratic bob of his head for confirmation.

   “Good. Lance, I know it’s scary, but I need you keep looking at me, alright? Look at me, and breathe. Can I ask you to do that for me?” Lance shook his head, and another few tears dampened his cheeks. Lance hadn’t realized he was crying.

   “Can’t–I can’t–can’t breathe,” he wailed, a hiccuping wheeze bubbling out of him. Shiro took that in stride, watching Lance’s misery play out before his eyes.

   “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you can. Watch me breathe, and try to line yours up with mine, okay? I need you to tell me you understand.” Lance watched his lips move, and forced his own to do the same.

   “I under–I understand.” Shiro nodded.

   “That’s good. Now, with me. In, out. In,out.” Lance did his best to do as asked, body shuddering with the effort. It wasn’t a fast process. Lance’s ugly, gasping sobs and mania weren’t diffused without trouble, but Shiro didn’t stop and eventually Lance found a sort of clarity. By the time he told Shiro it was okay, he stared at him in a different light.

   Shiro had bags of his own under his eyes, his hair was a little greasy, and the t-shirt and boxers he slept in were wrinkled and smelled a little musty. The imperfections made Lance feel better.

   He had none of the polished blonde hair that hung down the monsters’ backs, or their constant, blinding cleanliness. Lance felt safer, though not content by far. His blue eyes were blown wide, staring up at Shiro while he finally settled back into a normal pattern of breathing. Shiro smiled, but didn’t reach out to put a hand on his shoulder, as he might’ve with the other members of his team. Pidge had mentioned her run in with touch.

   “Do you think you’re okay to go back to sleep?” Shiro asked calmly, putting a reassuring smile on his face despite that he amended his statement quickly. “Or at least to be alone? It’s okay if you aren’t. I’ll stay as long as you need me to, Lance.”

   Lance, finally calmed, was grateful for his compassion, but still harbored his doubts. He thought he could trust him, but really, truly, how did he know? He decided it was best to be safe.

   “No, no. I’m fine. You can go.”

   Lance didn’t smile back.

* * *

   The next day Allura announced that they’d be taking a brief break, a time to work more on marketing then fighting. Even aside from Lance so obviously needing a break, they all did. Lance was grateful for that, even as small as he tried to make himself in the corner of the room. He knew they, this Voltron, whatever it was, was meant for fighting.

On the two weeks–Lance was pretty sure it was two weeks, anyways, in Altean time measurements–they spent docked on a calm planet, he’d woken up all but two nights screaming. Always,  Shiro came running to his room in his sleep deprived, disheveled state to calm him down. Lance once had tried to go to sleep with his face into his pillow, but when he woke that just made it all worse because it felt like another thing smothering him.

He was trying to reconnect with the team that had apparently once been his own, but it was hard. They looked at him with so much longing, but Lance could only speculate as to its origins. It made him nervous.

Perhaps it was in want for a friend, but though it was a distant relative of the beady eyed, manic and obsessive look the monsters–or Gelcidians, Lance was trying to work on making them less god-like in his mind–had given him, it was a relative all the same. Shiro, Lance was able to stand a little better. One night as he kneeled in front of Lance, wordlessly wiping the small puddle of drool that often formed in Lance’s fear, he confessed that he felt that everything that had happened was his fault.

It was the absent sort of chatter, something that Lance might’ve chalked up to a dream had he not known what his dreams truly consisted of. As it was, such a thing was uttered in the recovery stages, where Lance could breathe and told Shiro to just give him a moment. As such, it was not his most substantial recollection, though, to be fair it didn’t have a lot of competition. Lance just remembered Shiro murmuring,

“I’m so sorry, Lance. This is all my fault. I was supposed to keep you safe.”

Lance might’ve said something to reassure him at that point, but if he did he didn’t remember. He was usually too wiped after things to do much more then tell Shiro he was okay to go, and then he crashed again, dead to the world until morning. 

After such an admission, he could at least rest easy knowing his attention was largely guilt and concern. Thus, Shiro was reluctantly categorized as safe. Lance also began to take his baby steps with Hunk, the big boy from that first day on the castle, newly freed from Gelcid.

Lance thought he was funny, and he was so warm and welcoming, to him, anyways, that he considered him safe. It was at Hunk’s side that the rare laugh was coaxed from Lance’s lips, gave the team a glimpse of his former glory. 

Hunk could talk for hours and hours given the opportunity, about whatever thing he was tinkering with. Sometimes it was nice to just sit and let him. That way, Lance didn’t have to think on his own. The words could just wash over him, and he’d nod and hum along and let Hunk take care of everything that needed to be said. It was one of those times, handing Hunk his wrenches and hammers and the occasional screw, when he he heard a familiar whistle that could almost be ignored, except for the fact that it sent chills up Lance’s spine.

He dropped Hunk’s screwdriver, expensive, but Lance couldn’t be bothered. His eyes darted around the room quickly, and Hunk went about his jawing for a time without notice. Lance felt familiar visions rising in his mind, that though were partly blurred by drugs, were enough to send him reeling. 

The attendant on the floor, the way they bared their teeth and their wordless, whistling scream rose to an almost unbearable shriek. Lance knew that they were supposed to be safe, that they were light years away for Gelcid, but he couldn’t help but _fear._

Hunk finally caught on as he outstretched a gloved hand and found no tool for it to close around a moment later. His dark eyes flitted up, and caught on Lance, whose teeth were chattering like the ice of Gelcid had already been forced upon his body. It was instinct to reach out, but Hunk knew better.

“I’m so sorry, Lance,” he told him frantically, hitting the side of the transmitter he’d been fiddling with hard. At once, the sound ceased, but Lance was still visibly shaken. Hunk went to simply stand and put the hammer he’d used for the action back, but Lance stumbled back.

“No! Don’t come near me!” His heart was pounding like it did when Shiro had to come and breathe with him, have him focus on his eyes so he wouldn’t be suffocated by the visions of murder that wanted so badly to plague him. He tried to channel that calm, and with Hunk, knowing that he was safe with him, or at least more safe then he was on Gelcid, he composed himself. Despite that he’d come back to himself, his eyes still darted around the room warily. Hunk was elaborate in his apologies, going off on one of his nervous tangents again.

“Oh my god, I’m so _sorry_. I should’ve known and stopped it sooner, the Gelcidians were so weird when they talked and we complained about it enough, I should’ve remembered. This is all my fault and I’m just so sorry,” he continued, begging for forgiveness, but Lance had stopped listening about the second he mentioned that the Gelcidians spoke.

“What do you mean, when they talked?” he asked quietly, running what he hadn’t already blocked out of the monsters from his head. Hunk paused.

“You know, when they talked? I don’t know what else there is to explain.” Lance stared at him incredulously, his lip trembling.

“They didn’t talk. There was nothing. They just made that horrific sound, and did whatever they wanted and I had no idea _why_.” 

Hunk felt his habitual nausea settle over him, as the full weight of what Lance was saying sunk in. He remembered how frightening the Gelcidians were to them even knowing their culture. He remembered that Lance was away from the castle for a long time, that Blue was down and it took her a month to even get her tracker up and running. Hunk felt his heart leap into his throat, and he tried not to let his voice get too choked up when he replied.

“They were speaking to you all that time, Lance. You just couldn’t hear it,” he choked out at last, carefully monitoring Lance’s face. He was different now, more cautious and cracked in places where he’d been smooth before, but goddamnit Lance was his best friend even if he didn’t know that right now. He’d been left on his own for over a month with those creatures, and he had no idea why the entire time. Hunk missed being able to hold him, as selfish as he knew that feeling was, while they both let tears slip down their cheeks.

* * *

The day after that Lance ran into Allura.

He was not as familiar with the princess. She scared him a little, because she was one of the few on the ship who, outside of combat, wore nothing in the way of hand coverings. Lance wasn’t sure if she was exactly touchy feely, but he didn’t want to take that chance. Besides, he had a hard enough trusting the humans on board, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to take his chances with another alien.

He ignored the little nagging voice inside him that said he had no problem interacting with Coran, why was Allura so frightening? Lance told that voice that Coran was different. Coran was the safest person on the ship, with the gloves that extended nearly halfway up his arms, and the fact that he had so many explanations for all the things Lance was left in the dark about under the current circumstances. Coran was grounding, and he was comforting to have around. Allura, on the other hand, was a wild card.

He had no idea what to expect of her, and that made him wary. Still, Coran had shown him the star map the other day, and had shown him the planet he and the other humans apparently called home. Lance didn’t remember, but he hoped to. It was late, on one of the rare occasions he didn’t have a nightmare. Of course, that was a difficult thing to have when one didn’t sleep. Lance was just grateful to have given Shiro a decent chance at a proper night’s rest. He felt bad every time he saw him the morning after, bags hanging heavy under his eyes, but even when Lance told him not to come and worry about him, he dutifully showed. Now he faltered as he came upon the control console, only to find Allura there, plugging carefully away at the star map.

Lance gasped softly, and turned to leave, only to hear Allura shuffle around and call for him.

“Lance, wait!” she called, and he balked at her beckoning. He pivoted to face her, looking a little apprehensive. Part of him felt bad for the flash of hurt that contorted Allura’s features before she could wipe it away, but another part told him it was for the best. She could not necessarily be trusted, and though something in him trembled as he did so, he took a few careful steps back the way he’d come. Allura appeared relieved.

“Lance, how are you doing?” she asked, those iridescent eyes of hers burning with eagerness that told Lance she’d probably been wanting to speak with him for awhile. Again, a stab of remorse, but all it took was a little reminder of big, black eyes and white walls to make him remember why he had reservations. He shifted on his feet.

“Alright, I suppose. I’m still getting used to this. The castle, I mean.” There were other things Lance was still getting acclimated to, naturally. Both Allura and Lance were well aware of that, but now wasn’t the time and they both knew that too.

“I see,” Allura quipped, but it was awkward and left something to be desired, a fault that could be blamed on both parties. Lance, however, couldn’t just leave the princess hanging when she obviously wanted to get to know him. He didn’t know what their relationship was like before, but he could assume that at the least, they’d been friends. Teammates, and even if it wasn’t the closest relationship, it hurt to be shunned. Lance cast aside pleasantries. He couldn’t keep maintaining them if he wanted to make something new with the princess, as much as the idea made him anxious.

“What were you guys doing on Gelcid, anyways? They had me,” he frowned, looking to the ground, “They had me locked away. It took time to find me. I think–I think Keith found me? I don’t know. It’s blurry, and I just remember being thankful that whoever had me had gloves.” Allura’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Lance worried that he’d said something wrong, but she divulged what he wanted to know bitterly.

“We found the blue lion in nearby gorge. We knew you had to be somewhere in town, or else you were dead. I will not lie to you. When I saw the Gelcidians, I knew they could be an asset, as warriors if nothing else. They are predators. Not just any people have rows of teeth constantly on display and retractable claws. I wanted to forge an alliance.” Lance did his best not to cringe. She didn’t know, he reminded himself, though he already wanted to draw away. As he suspected, the princess could not be trusted. He mulled the words over for a moment, trying to reason with himself. He had to end this conversation without trouble, if nothing else.

“Were you successful in making that alliance?” It chilled him to his core. She had to say no. If she said no, Lance might be able to forgive her for siding with the monsters. Well, forgive wasn’t the right word. Perhaps he wouldn’t fear her so much if she wasn’t working with them. Allura’s mouth pinched angrily.

“No,” she spat. Lance cringed. Ah, so she wished she had the alliance. Lance tried to tell himself that that was okay. He was only a single paladin, and though Coran claimed he was not easily replaceable, he could see why the assets of an entire civilization could outweigh his uses. He began to move towards the exit, bowing his head in what he hoped was an adequately respectful gesture.

“I see. I’m sorry for jeopardizing things for you, if it would-” Allura cut him off quickly, sternly.

“No!” she growled. Upon seeing Lance’s unease, and more than a little fear, she calmed. “No,” she repeated, softer. “Lance, even aside from your uses as a paladin, you were–are–our friend. You are worth more then any alliance. I know things are all very new and unorthodox for you, and I’m sorry if I’ve done something to make you fear me. It was not my intent. I want to mend whatever has gone wrong between us. I want to be your friend, and if not that, a teammate again.” She stared at him in a manner that reminded him of Pidge in the hall  when he’d been returned, or so he was told, to the castle. Hopeful, but more then a little nervous. She was not sure he would accept her. 

For a moment, Lance deliberated if he would be safer running, telling Allura to stay far away. In the end, he offered a tentative smile that he was trying to work up to again. Hunk claimed he’d once had a smile to outshine the sun, and though a meager, almost unnoticeable curl of his lips was hardly stunning, it was a start.

“I think I’d like that.”

* * *

Lance stared up at the blue lion, his hands balling and unfurling again from the tight fists they wanted to curl up into. Their break was over, and though his teammates had tried very hard not to pressure him, when the castle shuddered from attacks and they all headed out in their lions, Lance was well aware that he could be stopping damage to them if he was able to be back in his lion. If they were able to form Voltron. They never said anything, nobody ever did, but Lance was slowly growing to trust the strange misfits that told him they were once his team.

They were kind, if nothing else. Lance could not stand idly by and watch them be hurt. He owed them his ability as a fighter to their cause, and if not him, he had to convince the lion to choose someone else.

The particle barrier surrounding the ship was just as large and intimidating as the ship itself, in Lance’s mind. He wasn’t sure what to do, he hadn’t exactly told anyone that he was coming to work with his lion, but he supposed the logical thing was to knock. His knuckles barely grazed the surface when it disappeared, and Lance tried to remain calm as he walked inside the creature that had apparently spit him out and into the hands of the monsters. No matter how he tried, and he did, because Coran said it was best to try and give them flaws instead of making them some sort of untouchable legend, they were monsters before Gelcidians. Her cockpit reminded him of that, with the chill that made his cheeks flush even through the substantial heat the jacket provided.

That made him antsy, but he reluctantly lowered himself into the seat and took a few deep breaths. He had a bond with this beast, whatever she was, and he could establish it again. Carefully, uncertainly, he reached out to her.

In response, he found, despite the initial icy reception, a sun-warmed ocean ready for him to frolic in. 

Blue purred lowly, creeping out slowly from the corner of his mind she’d settled in while he recovered. As much as she loved her paladin, Lance now knew she had given him time to recover. Gratitude bloomed in his chest at that, and Lance smiled softly to himself as he felt her give his cheek a careful lick. Lance could feel the teasing tide of her love, tickling his toes in an attempt to coax him into a calm sea. 

“You’re Blue? My lion, and I’m your paladin?” A nudge of her paw was the provided response, batting at the doubt and fear in his head.

Lance could now see that she didn’t want any harm to come to him. It pained her that her–their–element had played such a large role in his fear, because she never wanted him to feel that way. Still, part of her was grateful for the snow. Lance would not have survived otherwise. Even downed, she had saved his life, she revealed clandestinely. 

She understood that though they were water in all its forms, she would have to extend her power to keep him from freezing to death. Even when she desperately wanted to succumb and go offline altogether, the snow gave her strength and allowed her to give him the slightest bit of protection from the chill.

   Lance didn’t know why he’d put this off for so long. He was still admittedly suspicious of the people he now called friends, but much less so. Blue didn’t push him to give them his trust, but she wasn’t worried for him either, and that told Lance he was safe. Her love was unconditional, extending far past any healing period her paladid, her cub, might need. Lance smiled now, wider and happy. It was easy for him to tell his lion, alone in her cockpit but surrounded by her affections,

   “I love you, Blue.” She was happy with that, and Lance felt like he’d dove into the waves, relishing the water surging around him. It was with that thought on his mind that he curled up in her chair, and at ease with his current position, fell asleep with the sound of the sea as his lullaby.

   For once as he slept he was not assaulted with the horrific nightmares that made him howl in the pain of their revelations. No, these were different, delivered by Lance’s lion that kept his memories meticulously stored so that when he was ready, she could restore them.

   When Lance came to, he sobbed in relief. At last, he felt that he was home.

* * *

   In time, Lance rejoined the team. It took a lot of late hours logged on the training deck, but he felt bad that he hadn’t been able to support them as needed. He wanted to get back out and into the fight for Voltron. They’d already taken whole weeks off because of his own fragility, and though there was still a certain unsteadiness in his stride, Lance refused to be downed any longer.

   He did his best to make amends, spent time standing in front of a mirror and trying to put on his smile again.

   He sighed, hating how his eyes crinkled and glassed over.

   “So fake,” he murmured frustratedly. “They deserve more. I need to be more.” Lance knew that he was stronger with his memory returned. He needed to be able to handle everything, but still he could not allow Hunk to give him one of his bear hugs, or Shiro to give him pats on the back after group bonding gone well, even with his non-organic hand. It made his heart race, despite how hard he tried to school his expression and accept touch again.

   Lance was no longer entirely based around his memories with the monsters. He knew they were no different then any of the other species, but the other species were not cold and reverent. They did not petrify Lance to his very core, to the point where he felt as frozen as their white city anytime he was reminded of them. They’d always be monstrosities first. As a result, Lance was not something entirely shaped by them, but he was left to deal with aftermath of trying to reconcile who he’d become with who he’d been, and it tore him apart.

   Everywhere he looked, there was a weakness to exploit. On missions, simple ones that they’d started again, he stayed clear of any conflict. He could not fire his bayard or see Keith tear apart some sentries with his sword without seeing a different scene entirely.

   He’d apologized to Pidge for rejecting her friendship so harshly, for the late nights with Shiro, and the cold shoulder he’d given Allura. He cracked jokes again, but they seemed to fall flat. Lance didn’t know what to do, because he was supposed to be okay, and now he fully understood what was at stake if he just _wasn’t_. 

   One day as he stood with Coran while they cleaned the pods he broached the subject that perhaps all was not well. Lance didn’t like the pods all that much, to be fair. Now that he had his memories again, he was well aware of the time that one had closed around him without warning, locking him in the cold. That didn’t sit well with him, so he worked fast and talked as a distraction from all the things that could go wrong.

   “Coran, did you ever think I was going to get better?” Coran paused, his rag stilling on the glass of the pods as he looked to Lance, who avoided eye contact and kept scrubbing away.  

   “What do you mean, my boy?” Lance’s fingers tightened on the cloth he was using and positioned himself so that his back was to Coran. He didn’t want to face him. They all called Coran crazy, and yeah, sometimes he was, but there was a reason he had been Alfor’s advisor. He was smart despite his eccentricities, and Lance worried that given a view of his face he would see all the emotion Lance was bottling up. 

   “I was a mess. I’m still,” he sighed, his hand cramping from rubbing at the same spot despite the fact that it was already sparkling, “I’m still not able to work like I was. Did you ever think I’d get my memories back?” He wasn’t sure what answer he wanted, if he even wanted an answer at all. If he said he believed in him, well, of course that was good, but that also meant Coran had high expectations, and Lance didn’t know if he could meet them anymore. If he said he hadn’t, at least Lance had surprised him, despite how he knew it would sting. Coran was silent, and Lance still had yet to move onto a new patch to clean.

   “I didn’t know if you’d get your memories back, but I knew you could get better,” he responded finally. “You were so clearly nervous around all of us, even your fellow paladins, but you were trying to be better. I knew you before the incident, and I knew you had the mind, body, and spirit to mend. I just didn’t know how long it would take. Then of course the blue lion assisted you with your lost memories, but I am concerned that perhaps you aren’t prepared to reconcile the two parts of yourself that you’ve found. I do worry that you will recover sloppily, but I hope to help you if you need it. What do you say to that, Lance?”

   Coran could tell that there was more to the question then what Lance was letting on, and though he tried to pry, Lance did not respond. Still, when Coran peeked over at Lance, he felt at ease when he saw him moved on from the spot he’d been working since he’d first started the topic of conversation. He’d told Lance what he needed to hear, even when he wasn’t sure of that himself.

   Several days later, a breakthrough occurred. Lance was proud to be able to form Voltron. It was delicate process, but hearing Hunk shout in pain and Pidge cry,

   “I can’t hold on much longer!” was incentive enough. Lance shouted in anger, overriding his reservations. With what felt like a grinding of gears they came together. Lance fit delicately in with everything else, locking in place with a sort of reserve that hadn’t been present before the incident. Still, Voltron was brandished it’s sword to the enemy, and Lance felt happiness surge through him.

   “We did it!” he cried, and his teammates whooped and hollered in delight.

   “Great job, Lance,” Shiro praised him. Lance grinned, big and loopy like he hadn’t in ages. “Now let’s finish this.” Everyone roared in approval, and Lance was happy. He’d done something right, and that night at dinner Coran raised a glass in celebration, and Lance felt the sheer joy of it all coax forth real laughs that were frothy and light, uttered just for the sake of laughing rather then at a real joke. It was good. Lance felt good, and began to try and put the whole incident behind him.

* * *

Lance shot a piece of popcorn at Pidge, who caught it in her mouth with a smug crunch. 

“Eight,” she announced victoriously, smiling through a mouthful of half chewed crumbs. 

Lance barked out a laugh, and pelted her with another in the back of her head that left a little shine from the grease. 

“Gross.”

Hunk had found something like corn to pop, and it made them all ecstatic to have the familiar salt and sodium of an Earthen snack. It still baffled Lance that he’d forgotten their home world. As he regained the spark in him that the cold had snuffed out, he’d bemoaned it loudly to Hunk, who snorted and asked to be handed a bolt.

“I forgot Beyonce, Hunk! Beyonce! What was I doing living a life with so little purpose?” Though the question was humorous, it had a few too many truths to it that were not something he wanted to discuss. Thankfully, Hunk, tongue poking out as he examined the engine of a wrecked ship they’d picked up on a last stop on an allied planet, didn’t delve into it.

Currently, he and Pidge were sprawled across the couches in the lounge, while some alien soap opera they’d somehow managed to pick up a signal for played in the background. It was normal, easy, and though it wasn’t any of the telenovelas he’d used to watch back home, it was something like a taste of the normalcy they were trying to get back to again.

“Lance!” she complained, but pawed at the cushions until she found the stray projectile and ate that too. He snickered.

“My bad, Pigeon. Must’ve missed.” She sighed, flopping back.

“If you hadn’t saved my ass on that recon mission awhile back, I would dump the whole bowl on your head,” she threatened. Lance smiled. It wasn’t as big and shiny as he normally displayed, but it was getting there again. The banter might’ve continued, but Shiro’s voice came over the comms of the castle.

“Pidge, Lance. The mission,” he reminded them in that voice of his he used when he was tired but was trying pretty hard to hide it. They looked at each other in alarm, and then scrambled to be off the couch first and out of the door to get their armor.

Lance felt bad about it, especially after everything Shiro had done for him, but he knew he’d be forgiven, so he tried not to worry about it too much. He was getting better at that, putting his worries aside. Before, the part of him that knew his team told him everything was fine and he just might have to do some extra dishes later, and even those he could probably sucker Keith into doing. However, the part that existed after Gelcid and before his memories were returned to him said that he didn’t want any extra attention, from friends or not, and he should’ve done better. Lance frowned, and blocked out both. It got hard sometimes, to try and find a compromise between the things they promised, especially when he usually veered sharply away from anything that gave him a reminder of everything that had happened on Gelcid.

He put it off, and flew Blue out to meet the team. 

* * *

   Lance had never been a killer. He didn’t have a cruel bone in his body, and now he could remember his mama agreeing with that, pinching his cheek while his abuela smothered him in kisses.

“You’re such a good boy,” they praised him, and at eight years old that was the best thing in the world to hear.

Lance claimed to be better, but there was, at best, a new ephemeral delicacy to him that didn’t go away no matter how he tried to hide it. Oh, he did target practice and boasted of his skills again, but after getting off Gelcid, he wasn’t ready for a real soldier to attack. A few short hours after he’d been having popcorn wars with Pidge, Lance stared a snarling Galra soldier in the face as it lunged for his throat, tearing the fabric of his flight suit from his skin.

Lance was warm. In fact, he was sweating, but that did not stop the feeling like he was back in that room, creatures with barbed teeth and nails out for blood. He froze, despite the gun in his hands. His finger rested over the trigger while the color drained from his face.

He remembered having to learn combat again after so many months off, laying in bed night after night sore and bruising. Lance had natural ability, but he wanted to hone it again for his team. He fired round after round off against the gladiator, and that was easy because it just fell into the ground with some scorch marks that Coran assigned him and Keith to buff out later. Now, he could not pull the trigger, because _yes_ , he was a murderer. His touch brought ruin, and no matter how much he repaired the faults in his appearance, there was a reason Pidge did not bat him on the arm as they squabbled. However, he had never killed anything directly before. In the white rooms, he could only watch as the monsters turned on another example of their ilk. 

Lance was still so very vulnerable. He claimed to have grown, but both then and now he could not do anything but watch and have the sharp edge of a blade hack his attacker–no, he was the attacker, and they were his victim–to pieces. The Galra roared, swinging their hand down for a killing blow. Lance did not even flinch, despite that he heard Shiro cry his name in horror.

“Lance, no!”

Keith prevented the slashing of claws from ever touching Lance with a frenzied swing of his sword. Lance remained pinned on the floor, now by a heavy, and quite literally dead weight. He could not, would not, pull the trigger to literally save his own life. Not when he was already a killer. His face crumpled. He was terrified, but not of dying.

   Like before, a blade had torn someone apart. Like before, the blood landed on Lance and everywhere else until he could see nothing except its viscous splatter. The first time, it had been shock that sealed his lips. The second, the drugs running through his veins. The third? The third time there was nothing at all holding him back, and Lance screamed so loudly the heavens quaked.

   Lance was thrown into Keith’s lion, obviously in no state to operate his own. He screamed and sobbed, once again surrounded by oppressive heat that was suffocating like he hadn’t dealt with in months.

   “Not again–not–not because–not because of me,” he wailed, pressing his hands to his chest as if they could be hidden by cradling them there. Keith landed his lion, but he’d had to take off his gloves, because they were covered in blood that Lance couldn’t stand to see.

   Keith knew that Lance was not as fine as he liked to pretend to be, or even believed he was. He had seen the way Lance scrutinized his own hands when he thought nobody was around, and then shoved them firmly shoved in the pockets of his jacket. Just because he didn’t wake up howling from nightmares that called Shiro from his room, didn’t mean he was dream free. He’d just figure out how to hide it, or perhaps they’d become so routine that they no longer were worth the energy it took for Lance to wake up. His jumpiness at breakfast still said something was amiss. 

Keith wished he’d been able to get to him faster, but as Lance panicked and his back arched painfully off the floor, he crouched down by him, like Shiro had told him to do once. It had been early in the morning, obscenely so, but he told Keith that should anything happen to him, Lance needed him to know this.

   Now Lance could not be moved, not while he gasped for breath and tears ran down his cheeks on the floor of Red.

   “Lance, do you remember what Shiro does with you?” Keith asked. Lance didn’t respond. He had to ask several more times, but he eventually got a nod, and they began to breathe together. In and out, until Lance sniffed but no longer was distraught to the point of screams. His shoulders still shook occasionally, but Keith didn’t say anything about that. Instead, he spoke to him, trying to angle himself so that the blood on his armor didn’t show.

   “Lance, why are you fighting? You know that you’re not ready. Nobody is going to be angry with you if you take time to recover.” Nobody knew what exactly had happened to Lance on that planet, but Keith had seen that ceremony, whatever the hell it was. He’d seen Lance stand there, statue still, while they flayed one of their own alive. Lance glared at Keith, snapping.

   “Yes, I do. I have to. I remember now. I’m not the nervous, skeptical wreck anymore who couldn’t even talk with Allura. I’m better, I can do this. I have my memories, and we can form Voltron. There’s no reason I can’t,” he insisted vehemently. Keith stared at Lance. He had tear stains on his cheeks, and his eyes were red. The black marks were still under his eyes, and if anything, had gotten worse since he’d been on Gelcid, but it was easy to disregard them when there was life in him again. If Keith hadn’t known better, he might say that despite his increasing laughter and smiles, the boy in front of him was the same one they’d rescued before, save for the clothes that hung off his frame. Either attire was equally bloodstained. Keith saw that Lance still was frail, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he wasn’t. Keith looked to him sympathetically.

   “Lance, I remember being so irritated with you all the _fucking_ time before Gelcid. You were always picking fights that I didn’t want to be in, but I ended up caving anyways and started bickering. I remember carrying you to my lion while you were dead weight in my arms and your head was slamming against my armor as I ran. I remember you waking up and being so afraid and confused, guarding yourself towards everyone because you didn’t know if we could be trusted. I know there’s a lot of versions of you, and you’re not sure who you are, and you don’t have to. We’re here to help you when you do, as long as you want our help. All we–all I ask is that you take the time you need to heal.” He extended a hand. Keith knew it was dumb. He knew that somewhere in Lance, something had gotten twisted and had made him fear touch more then anything, but he also knew Lance needed opportunity, or he would never truly change.

   Lance was afraid. He kept thinking he’d come so far, but then something would happen. Another murder, another death and blood raining down and he’d panic again. He just wanted to be okay. He was expected to be okay by now, if only by himself. His lip quivered dangerously, so close to losing it again, but Lance stared Keith up and down. His blue eyes that he’d been named for by the monsters were wide and defenseless, still edged in tears that threatened to spill at any moment. Lance reached out, and carefully, oh so carefully, took Keith’s hand. A second passed, their eyes locked, and Lance’s knuckles went white as he clung.


End file.
